


three little beasts

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: woven upon the loom of fate [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Castlevania (TV), Game of Thrones (TV), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: (for Castlevania), Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapters 1-2 is fluff and worldbuilding, Cousin Incest, Dhampir!Robb, Forgemaster!Jon, Forgemastery, Gen, If you're here for smut its in Chapter 3, Jon is raised as Ned's nephew, M/M, Necromancy, Vampire!Theon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Jon Snow is the lone human in a family full of dhampirs and vampires. Naturally, he's raised to be their Forgemaster. And he'd really like to get on with the work of transmutating the dead into night creatures to defend their castle, if only his "brother" (cousin) Robb and foster brother Theon weren't so damn distracting. AKA: Robb's reckless, Theon's one dramatic bitch, and poor Jon has to deal with it.Robb and Theon know they're breaking the sacred laws of House Stark, feeding on a human in their employ, but what Ned Stark doesn't know won't hurt him... and Jon's totally in control of this situation. There's no chance of it getting out of hand. Nope.(All you really need to know to follow this is: it's medieval Europe, and vampires can't wield alchemical magic, so they need to employ humans if they want a Forgemaster, to do necromancy for them).ON HIATUS WHILE I WORK ON MY NOVEL





	1. Chapter 1

Jon's Great Forge was in the east wing of the castle, a huge, high-ceilinged room with gigantic windows made of many panes of glass slotted together, to spill copious amounts of light upon his work. Theon moaned often that Jon had chosen that particular chamber to perform his work, as favouritism toward his brother. Since Robb's part-human blood allowed him to walk in the sunlight. But as a pure-blooded vampire, Theon was confined to the night, and slept through the day. And as such, Theon had spent years lurking in the corridors when Jon was a child, waiting to pounce on him and laugh at the resulting shrieks of terror.

But now that Robb was full-grown, he would not allow Theon to terrorise his brother, even in jest. Robb was very protective of the only human in his father's court. He lounged, effortlessly graceful, on the edge of Jon's Forging table, as Jon prepared the corpse for the alchemical process.

Jon worked quietly and efficiently, cleaning the bloodied human of filth, arranging his remaining limbs with respectful care. When the body lay prone on his table, he fetched his sword.

"How many more?" Robb huffed, "Don't you want to do anything else with this day? Look at that - all that glorious sunshine we could be revelling in."

It was a perfect, cloudless day. The sweet song of the twittering birds outside, floated in through the few window-panes which could be cranked open, to let a small breeze in the blazingly warm room. In the warmest patch of the tiled floor, Ghost, Jon's pet direwolf, lay basking. His blood-red eyes were closed in repose, his huge, fluffy body rising and falling with deep breaths. Ghost's ears flicked occasionally at their conversation. Though Robb would never admit it, he was slightly intimidated by the wolf. Ned had gifted Jon the beast as a child, to keep him safe in a court filled with bloodsucking vampires, who thought of humans as livestock more than sentient creatures.

Jon sighed heavily in answer to his brother's whine, but said nothing. He had his duties, and he could not abandon them as readily as Robb. Robb was his father's heir, yet he had many hundreds of years to learn the skills he would need to rule their people- if his father ever died.

Though Jon was the elder of the two by less than a year, because Robb was a dhampir, with a vampire father and half-human mother, he grew at a ridiculous rate. When they were seven, Robb had begun to eclipse him. Now, Jon was almost of age, but his younger cousin had already looked like a man grown, for several years.

When they were babes, they were the only children in the castle of Winterfell, and so he and Robb had called one another "brother", and had never fallen out of the habit. Lady Catelyn had recently given birth to a second child; a redheaded daughter named Sansa, and it was out of concern for her that Jon was Forging endless gargoyles.

Count Tepes, the master of all vampire kind, had recently started waging a war upon the mortal populations of the nearby region of Wallachia. And his crusade had stirred up the mortals in their own local community. None of the humans in Wintertown would be bold enough to mount an attack on Winterfell themselves. But there remained a possibility that a nearby Northern lord might employ a vampire-hunter to drive them out, if that lord generated enough support from the local populace. House Bolton in particular were fond of skinning vampires, and apparently had a room dedicated to cloaks made from vampire-hide. Lady Catelyn was convinced Roose Bolton wanted to add to his collection.

Frankly, Jon thought his Aunt was being a little hysterical. But then dhampirs did pro-create very rarely, and each tiny dhampir babe was a gift. He could not begrudge her some extra defences upon the castle, when truly, he loved his work. He had only ever known the path of a Forgemaster; steered toward the alchemist's arts as soon as he could read.

Jon's human mother had died when he was a babe, and he had been taken in by his only relative. Great Grand-Uncle Ned Stark, who had been turned into a vampire when he was a young man. Ned Stark had outlived all his human relatives, most of whom had perished during the scourge of a plague. The rest had died off slowly. Leaving only offshoots of the main branch, such as House Snow, of which Jon was the remaining member. Therefore Ned had inherited the castle of Winterfell, because Jon was too small, and really too distant a relative to claim it.

It was a point of contention between Jon's Aunt and Uncle, that technically, under human laws, Jon was the heir to the castle, as the only living member of their House. Lady Catelyn thought Ned had been foolish to take in the human and allow him to live. But Jon was certainly unlikely to  _ out _ live his vampire relatives, and so the point was moot. Jon was ever grateful for his uncle for taking him in, and encouraging him toward a profession. Whilst Forging was distasteful to some, was essential to the survival of vampire kind. It was a job with security, and well-respected. And Jon was very good at it.

Ignoring Robb's pout, Jon raised his Forging sword. Mortals could use any tool, to Forge a living being from an undead one. The power came not from the object itself, but the coins it was inlaid with. Jon's sword, Longclaw, had a hilt with a carved wolf's head: made in Ghost's likeness. Instead of gems for eyes, as a normal knight might have decorated their sword with, the wolf had two shining alchemist's coins. They were akin to pennies, but carved with the ancient runes of the very first necromancers.

When the coins were called upon, by one who knew how to trap and wield their power, they rang out a chime of perfect balance. Then a special light erupted from the tool they were embedded in. Count Tepes had two Forgemasters; one who wielded a hammer which emitted eerie blue light, and one who used a dagger, which erupted in bloody crimson rays. The creatures they Forged from their undead ingredients, always had eyes which burned with exactly the same shade of light. It was the only way that others could identify which Forgemaster had animated any given creature. But Forgemasters knew their creatures on a more sacred level.

The amethyst light that burned when Jon stabbed the prone body on his slab, was a manifestation of Jon's soul. It swirled around them both, Jon and the dead man, roaring and raging at being separated from Jon's mortal body. He focused on directing the energy of his living soul, using it as a charge to power the spell that would re-animate and re-form the dead being. The man on the table began to shudder; his limbs cracking and shrinking, folding into two leathery wings, and two small, withered legs. There was a loud snap of breaking bone as the kneecaps shattered and bent backwards, like a wolf's legs. The flesh of its toes merged and melded into three talons; two large toes and a hook-like small claw. The human face melted into a small, deformed head, with a pronounced forehead and rippled, grotesquely bulging eye-sockets. The neck shrunk until the head sat directly on spiked shoulders. When it was done the hunched creature's eyes began to glow a piercing, bold amethyst, as something akin to life sparked within the horrid little beast.

Jon knew his creatures by some inate instinct alone. Each new patchwork souls cried out to him, sobbing in confusion and fury. The gargoyle lept to its feet, crouched on the cold steel slab, lashing out at its new master. With the supreme indifference of long practice, Jon hopped out of the way, the billowing bright light of his own soul collapsing back into invisibility.

He lowered the Forge weapon to his side, reaching out one confident hand to his crying child. Despite the pain and fear of birth, the creature recognised him as its parent, and pressed its head against Jon's cool palm. A Forged creature was loyal to its Forgemaster alone, and nothing could tempt them from their service. They were slaves to his will, and though Jon was gentle, he was never comfortable with the knowledge that if he wished it, these creatures would destroy themselves with no ability to save themselves from his command.

The moment was broken by Robb's long beleaguered sigh.

"Alright, go on, find a place for yourself," Jon addressed his new creature. The beast beat its new wings experimentally once or twice, before leaping into the air and flying out of the room, off through the castle to find an opening to the outside. Jon had willed it to find an empty spot along the tower crenellations, and sit still in peaceful, silent sleep. It was to imitate a gargoyle, ever quiet and watchful. They would only awaken if the castle was ever attacked.

Jon smirked at his pouting brother, ever astounded at Robb's petulance. This is what came of growing to full age in so few years. Robb would remain a green boy for centuries, not likely to shake off the hormones of a young man, until Jon was long dead. It was the nature of immortal beings to age very slowly, once they reached maturity. Robb could not help it, and Jon could not blame him for his recklessness.

"Fine, we can go out for a ride," Jon caved, grinning when Robb leapt to his feet. 

"Finally!" he crowed, "Let's go fishing. If we kill a trout, we can shove it in Theon's coffin, and he won't know what the stink is when he wakes tonight."

Throwing his head back with laughter, Jon sheathed his Forging sword in the scabbard hanging by the huge fireplace, whistling for Ghost. The direwolf leapt to attention, as though he had not been slumbering for hours, bounding to Jon's side to accompany the young men on their adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

Vampires didn't actually _sleep_ in their coffins, unless they had decided to hibernate away a few centuries. Only then because they were bored, or deeply injured and needed to heal. In Winterfell, Ned had commissioned enough for the entire family: great stone tombs, stored in the lowest levels of the castle, far below the crypts where their human ancestors decayed. Theon had dragged one up; a huge dusty great monstrosity that he dragged all the way up to his tower room, just to prove a point. Naturally, vampires had very enhanced strength, so it wasn't a the feat of endurance that was impressive. But rather Theon's dedication to making a spectacle. It was an unwieldy, unbalanced thing, highly decorated in runes, carved from a single block of pearlescent marble. Once it was laid out in Theon's black and gold, lacquered and velveted room, there were no words for how lurid and garish the overall effect was. Theon adored it.

That had been many years ago, when Robb and Jon were still very small, and still appeared the be the same age. Theon moved the coffin to use in place of his regular four-poster bed. Chiefly because the boys had teased him about not being a 'real' vampire, since he'd never been inside one.Theon rather liked sleeping in it, of course, in keeping with his dramatic tendencies.

So Theon retained the tomb in his damn bedroom. On full display. He filled it with padded, ruffled cushions, and even commissioned a special pedestal for it to be elevated upon. A true testament to his gaudy, indulgent tastes. Ned thought the whole endeavour was ridiculous. But he was an indulgent master, and said not a word. He never really did, when it came to the decoration of private spaces. Theon's wing in the castle was only eclipsed in size by Lord Stark’s, and Theon didn't have to share his with a wife and babe. It was his own private little kingdom, to do with as he pleased. None dared venture there without a standing invitation. Theon was a possessive creature.

When the youngest members of Houses Stark and Snow were boys, Theon had occasionally closed himself off in his wing. Mostly to escape their enthusiastic chatter, and the sycophants which doted on them. Whenever Theon was feeling dreadfully offended, by a slight from one of Ned's courtiers (or if he was the target of one of Jon and Robb's pranks), he would sleep off his annoyance. Hibernating in his coffin for a few days at a time. When they were little, Theon enjoyed threatening Jon and Robb, insisting that he would gorge himself on cow's blood, and then sleep for millenia. Only consenting wake up when they were long gone.

But Theon had been forced to stop using the threat, even in jest. When he was practically an infant, Robb had blubbered great fat embarrassing tears, and refused to let go of Theon's leg. All because he came across the full-grown vampire actually snacking on a cow. It had taken hours to calm and reassure the baby dhampir, with Lady Catelyn glaring at Theon the entire time.

Jon wasn't the only one she wasn't fond of: Theon was the only vampire Ned had sired himself. Lady Catelyn was jealous of their bond, which could not be replicated outside of a vampire and their sire. Though Ned and Theon had never been lovers, she too was a covetous creature, and did not understand why Ned had never sent his creation out into the world, to make his own fortune.

Over the years, Robb and Jon had learnt the story of Theon's rebirth, from whispers in court, and rumours of the townsfolk. They had pieced together a dashing, romantic story. But if it held the entire truth was a mystery; Theon never spoke of his human life. So far, all they knew for sure, was that he had been peasant boy, barely of age when he bled out in Ned Stark's arms.

The popular story at court, was that Theon had been turned, because he had been a loyal friend to the lone vampire in the city of White Harbour. This was in the days before House Stark had been culled by disease, long before Winterfell lay empty. Ned Stark was a relatively young vampire, his sire gone, with no ties to any living thing. His townhouse was a mausoleum, dedicated to his changing interests over the decades. Filled to the brim with fascinating trinkets from his travels. The staff he employed were peasant folk, with no interest in his strange collection. Ned shunned social interaction with the local gentry. Preferring his own company, since the night was his time to work, whilst the humans gorged themselves on decedent frivolity at their balls and galas.

But a vampire alone needed to trade for many a thing. Regularly place orders with the butcher, for the blood of animals. Though he kept his identity a secret, Ned's staff could speak to his unusual habits, and in time, the townspeople suspected what he truly was. Despite his best efforts to remain anonymous, other vampires sought Ned out from time to time. They came to visit at his home, to court his favour and try to convince him to join their ventures. But Ned spurned them all in favour of his own company. The only being who managed to gain a modicum of his interest, was Theon.

As the story went, the peasant boy Theon came from a long line of fishermen. He was sent to the grand townhouse, to provide Lord Stark with many freshwater specimens. Ned dissected them for his work in anatomical studies, his field of study at that time. The two had grown friendly. The studious vampire and the inquisitive human. Theon was fascinated by the sketches Ned produced, and could already read a little, improving every time his visited, by reading the master's notes. Ned's was the only grand house that Theon had ever seen further than the backdoor and kitchen of. In their own quiet way, they had come to understand a little of one another.

Most noble folk wanted their tradespeople kept far away. They did not like to be reminded that they relied on fish and flour and fruit to live. Ned Stark was of a different breed. Though vampire, he saw no need to debase a sentient creature. He preferred instead to treat other thinking animals with respect. Lord Stark invited Theon to follow his curiosity to his heart's content. Allowed him to play with the telescope and zoetrope. Theon whiled away hours marvelling at maps of far-flung places he would never see.

But Theon's father had grown cruel and suspicious in his old age and ignorance. The fisherman used his unsuspecting youngest son to ferret out knowledge of Ned's townhouse. One night in early winter, the old man led a raid against it, followed by many other townspeople. Stoked with the righteous fury of the church, and willing to hunt down a monster of the night, they came with fire and pitch. Ned had only survived, because of Theon's warning. Once the young man had realised his father's plan he had scrambled up to the fine house ahead of the mob, to sound the alarm.

In discovering that their quarry had vanished, but Theon was lurking nearby, the old fisherman quickly surmised what had happened. In a fit of madness, he lashed out and stabbed his youngest son. The old man claimed Theon had been seduced by the Devil. Theon's 'disloyalty' to humanity and the holy doctrine of the church, meant his death would be sanctioned by that institution. The villagers abandoned Theon to die alone, slowly, blood pouring from his gut, as they continued on their hunt.

Ned had lived a quiet life back then, drinking on swine blood to live. It had been years since he had been driven out of his homeland by hunters, who had succeeded in slaying his own sire. Watching from the shadows of the nearby forest, and wracked with guilt over endangering a child with his friendship, Ned had gathered Theon's dying body into his arms, and rewarded his kindness with eternal life.

For years they had travelled the wilds together, Ned gathering knowledge and teaching Theon to control his bloodlust. A young vampire needed time to acclimatise to non-human blood. Cattle wasn't Theon's preferred food. Only human blood would suffice for any vampire with self-respect, but their raids on unsuspecting hamlets were a thing of the past. Theon was hungrier than most of the household, even after his long years of undead existence. Younger than Ned by many years, fury and bloodlust still ran thick in Theon's veins. But according to their lord, Theon was far less vicious now that he had been in his vampiric youth.

Fully blooded vampires had a purer craving for liquid blood. They could not substitute their aching thirst for raw meat, like Robb and other dhampir could. When a vampire tore into a human, they did not snack on the fleshy pieces. They merely tore off the head, and drank from the gushing hole. When Robb fought humans with pitchforks and slayed them, he was often distracted for hours after the battle was won, chewing on organs and whining at his mother like a baby bird, until she handed over the best cuts.

It had been an _unusual_ childhood for Jon.

But base carnage was not the normal state of affairs. The inhabitants of Winterfell generally kept to themselves, and Ned was famous throughout the vampire community for advocating for peace with humans. He forbade the practice of torture, aside from in times of war. If a vampire had broken one of their sacred laws, one decreed by Count Tepes himself, Ned used a greatsword named Ice to behead and then stake them. Rather than tearing out their fangs and chopping off their claws, which was the vampire way. But that led to a long starvation, and Ned refused to advocate such treatment of their own kind.

Drinking from a human in Ned Stark's employ was not a sacred law; Count Tepes couldn't care less about how his generals treated their minions. But Ned Stark forbade it, so at Winterfell at least, human servants were not treated as potential food.

The Wintertown folk had no reason to believe Jon was not a dhampir too, and Uncle Ned had strongly discouraged him from revealing otherwise. Of the household, Jon interacted with the townspeople most. Anyone who wished to purchase his conventional work, were forced to call upon the more palatable entrance to his smithy. It was a separate building from the main castle, but linked by walkways and tunnels, which lead directly to the Forge, and the dungeons and crypts below the keep.

Jon used the Forge in his spare time, to transmute rocks into precious metals or gems, which he traded for coin or other valuable items. Or else he melted and reworked the metals and stones himself, into jewellery, with conventional alchemy rather than his Forgemaster sword. Jon had a reputation as a respected silversmith, by the townsfolk. Occasionally, Winterfell had a wealthy human visitor from a far-flung region as a guest, who travelled to sample his wares. Or else commissioned him to make a custom piece. This caused Lady Catelyn to fly into inflamed rages, sure that their true nature would be discovered by these impertinent humans. Yet dhampir fangs and claws were retractable, unlike vampiric ones, allowing them to better hide amongst their prey. Truly, only Ned, Theon, and the other vampires of the court, had to be wary and cautious around the uninitiated.

Jon had bedazzled countless nobles from across the North. Even the Lady Bolton, before her untimely death. Her mousey blonde hair had been offset splendidly, by the yellow diamonds he placed at her throat. He sometimes wondered what Roose Bolton had done with those gems. Since Bolton’s heir had died, the sour man had shown no indication of remarrying. If he died without issue, Jon would command his Forged creatures to regain his former property. Baby Sansa had a shock of red curls; no doubt the rocks would look gorgeous at her throat when she grew.  
  
Ned had encouraged Jon in his experimental work with metals. Jon wasn't truly a smith. Setting gemstones into intricately woven metal did not call out to him, the way that Forgemastery did. But if there ever came a time when the vampires were gone, or Jon chose to leave them behind, and see the world for himself... he knew he would need a trade to fall back on. A silversmith was far more valuable to the world at large, than a man who could enslave and transmute the dead. Not much call for the second, in the vast majority of settlements in the world.

"I've made a bracelet for Sansa, to wear at her baptism into the Church of Night," Jon announced, as Robb waded into the small lake. A vampire didn't exactly require a fishing rod. Robb’s sharp claws and unnatural stillness would be the death of many squiming, scaled creatures.

"Mother will love that," Robb said, "begrudgingly, of course."

Jon nodded, settling on the banks of the deep pond. Vampires couldn't cross running water; it would dissolve them like ice melting into a puddle. Thankfully, that particular curse had been placed upon them before stone bridges were invented, so it was no problem actually travelling across the land. Providing the bridges were made of stone and not dirt paths. Naturally, vampires chose to settle far from rivers, which had been difficult for Lady Catelyn's family, since her homeland was naturally full of them. But her human father had been so besotted with a vampire, he chose to move his household North in order to court and eventually woo his bride, far from the raging torrents that would have turned his lady love into a puddle.

In a characteristic disregard for his parent’s wishes, Robb and Jon often rode far out from the protection of the castle. Out through the Wolfswood, where Ghost had been found as a pup, and onward to a perfectly still, glittering lake, when they wished to fish. Jon would remain on the bank. Ghost was a silent, ever-watchful protector by his side, whilst Robb was distracted. It was somewhat galling to Jon, to be considered in need of a protector. Especially when that duty fell to Robb, who was his elder only in form. But there were many creatures which called the woods home. Even a human was a worthy adversary, if they were a trained hunter of night monsters. Jon could not afford to be careless. They were far from the shadow of the castle. Out here, fear of Ned Stark’s wrath would not prevent others from seeking to inflict harm upon them.

Once Robb had waded in deep enough, he flashed Jon a cocky smile, sunlight glinting off his sinful fangs, and then he dived. The water barely rippled, and no bubbles floated up in his wake. No matter how many times Jon had seen his closest companions endure great peril, he could not stop his heart from leaping into his mouth. His terror that Robb would not survive the ink-black depths of the silent lake were utterly unfounded. Robb didn’t need to breathe. And no matter what vicious creatures called that lake home, nothing in its depths was more deadly than Robb himself. Jon knew it. As surely as he knew he wouldn’t actually allow Robb to put a dead fish in Theon’s precious coffin. Their friend and former mentor would have a fit, and Jon really didn’t want to mop up the blood after Theon tore Robb to ribbons.

Anything short of a staking was acceptable, in touselling between vampires. The last time Jon had seen them fight, Theon had torn Robb’s left arm clean off, then pummeled him with his own fist. Lord Stark had been more irritated at the resulting structural damage to the stone arches supporting the Great Hall, than the fact Robb had been forced to hibernate for almost a month afterward, whilst his body sewed itself back together. There was a reason why Jon had been gifted a savage beast as his champion; and it was not just because most of those with vampiric blood could transform into wolves at will. Ghost maintained Jon's rank among the court, fighting those he could not spar with. Vampires had no great urge to be wary of their strength.

Jon vividly recalled how Theon had spent the last week of Robb’s confinement following him about everywhere, whining. Apparently, Robb was being a ‘bitter, resentful hag’, because it really didn’t take more than a fortnight to heal a limb. He’d gone very quiet, when Jon reminded him that dhampirs were not quite as strong as their pure-blooded brethren. And between the two, Theon was the one who held more of a grudge. Therefore it was highly unlikely Robb was sleeping out of mere spite.

Jon did not witness their reconciliation afterward. But he noted that Theon never tore off any of Robb’s limbs after that. Not even when Robb spilled squid ink all over his favourite, mint-green silk waistcoat.

So when a dripping Robb emerged from the lake a while later, covered in the sopping guts of a gigantic sturgeon that had been shredded almost in half by his brother’s talons, Jon did nothing but smile. And consider what recipe he might request from the cooks. There was no need to waste a nice juicy beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the necklace Jon is thinking of](https://png2.kisspng.com/20180409/qgw/kisspng-jewellery-necklace-gemstone-graff-diamonds-jewellery-5acb147e89ee95.692247761523258494565.png)

**Author's Note:**

> Please read and review! Support the feedback movement within fan communities :)
> 
> I extrapolated whole bunch of stuff about how Forging/dhampirs work, because its cool and they didn't explain it on the show. I just wanted to write a fic, not spend years on a wiki bend for the game series. So if anything's uncanon for the Castlevania game series I'm sorry, this is based on show!verse.


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